


Nine Lives

by TreeOfLife1997



Series: Other!Jaskier AU's [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cat School (The Witcher), Curses, Dark Magic, Flashbacks, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Witcher!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22143352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeOfLife1997/pseuds/TreeOfLife1997
Summary: Geralt wished for fate to take Jaskier off his hands and Jaskier walked away, planning to leave just as Geralt had wished, only he didn't make it far before the Golden Dragon approached him. It would appear Jaskier has been cursed...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Other!Jaskier AU's [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595701
Comments: 32
Kudos: 481





	1. Chapter 1

_The Young Witcher, of the School of Cat, made his way through the woods. His curly brown hair and Witcher's eyes were catching the light of the sun as it began to make its descent through the sky. He'd been visiting his lover, a Mage, who worked in the city he'd just left. He smiled to himself, as his keen hearing and sharp eyes took in the world around him. He hummed a little tune under his breath as he walked, his earing unhindered by it. The School of Cat had a terrible reputation he knew, people spat at his feet and at him as he walked past them. He knew many who had come before him had turned their skills to less than an ideal job, thieves, mercenaries and assassins. The School of Cat was unique in many ways._

_Those who survived the mutations did not become bulking warriors made like a brick wall made of muscle, like the other Schools. No, they remained as they would have appeared without the mutations... Which made them lighter. The School of Cat was renowned for its speed; no other School could produce Witchers faster. And as such, their fighting style reflected that. They were often lean, with the body of an athlete, not the body of a warrior. So they wore light armour and carried smaller swords and knives. They did not charge in and face the monster they were battling head-on, relying on strength and skill to win. No, they darted in and out of range, landing hits and dancing out of reach, over and over again until the job was done. They moved like acrobats, and their agility was unmatched. They relied on their precision to ensure they came out of battles alive. No wonder so many turned to unsavoury trades, they were the best suited for the job._

_But there was another, a lesser-known effect of these mutations. While the other Schools diluted and attempted to remove emotions from their Witcher's, the School of Cat's mutations had the opposite effect. Their emotions became amplified, stronger than humans and ran a lot deeper. It was no wonder, so many of them became crazy over time, in fact, they were all a little mad. One emotion they didn't have though was fear, at least no the kind of fear which would root a person to the spot if they suddenly found themselves stood in front of a monster. Many regarded them as entirely fearless as a result, not knowing they did indeed feel fear, but fear for others, not themselves. People didn't care to know this, enough of the Witcher's from the School of Cat, had gone bad, that it was believed all Cats were bad._

_Suddenly the Young Witcher was cut from his musing as the scent of smoke reached him, faint as it was on the wind. Frowning the Young Witcher cast his gaze to the sky, viable through the trees. Black smoke was billowing across the sky, in large plumbs. The Young Witcher's eyes widened ever so slightly before he took off running through the trees, towards the direction the smoke was coming from, the direction he had been walking towards. It didn't take long for the scent of blood to join the scent of smoke, and before long, the sounds of battle could be heard too, distant but definitely there. The Young Witcher raced through the trees, which passed in a blur at his inhuman speed. He covered miles faster than any horse could._

_The flickering of flames could be seen through trees, and he pushed himself to move faster as he reached up for one of the two swords strapped to his back. He burst through the treeline, his sword in one hand and a knife on the other. Flames kept into the sky from burning caravans and tents, bodies littered the ground, and for every fallen Cat Witcher there were fifteen to twenty men. The Young Cat witcher stared down at a child who lay slain; they had only just begun their training... A burning hot rage suddenly burned through his veins and he lept over bodies and dodged past the flames to where the battle was still raging. He barely felt the injuries he sustained as he caught by slices and jabs which cut at him and arrows fired from a distance he could not sense with so much going on around him. He was outnumbered easily by at least thirty to forty and Cats were dropping by the second, defeated by the sheer number they faced._

_Finally a blow bought the Young Witcher to his knees and a sharp kick sent him tumbling backwards. As he stared up at the sky, he waited for the final blow to come, no strength left to try and fend it off... Only it never happened. Instead, the face of the Mage, his lover, appeared above him and they grabbed his face between their hands. He could see their lips moving, but the world was fading out around him. He couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears, and his vision was beginning to darken. He blinked, and suddenly his lover was holding their hands above him, and he could feel the tingle of magic against his skin. All he could do was watch, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing, as his lover turned to dust before him and as wisps of smoke rose from where they once stood, he wondered if he'd see them in whatever lay beyond._

~*~

A part of Jaskier wished he could say he was surprised by the words Geralt had spoken, but he wasn't. Everyone tired of him eventually, some quicker than others. He often found himself alone, and when he had first befriended Geralt, a friendship he knew was definitely one-sided now, he had hoped Geralt would keep him around. He seemed just as lonely as Jaskier himself. Hurt blossomed through Jaskier's chest, and he wasn't even conscious of what he said, all he knew was he'd said something, and now he was walking away. Tears threatened to fall, and suddenly Jaskier was flooded with anger! How could he have been such a fool? He'd been so stupid, convincing himself Geralt cared. It was so clear now, Jaskier had imposed himself on The Witcher. Of course, Geralt couldn't have just left him; he couldn't have known whether Jaskier would be able to make it back to a town safely or not... And that would be why Geralt always disappeared during the night, while Jaskier slept, in a bed, at an Inn, in a sizable town.

"Julian!" A voice suddenly cut through his thoughts as he passed the mouth of the cave.

Jaskier turned at the use of his actual name and was greeted by the site of the golden dragon, back in his human form.

"Borch," Jasmier greeted the man, forcing a smile onto his face.

Borch watched him closely for a second, and it made Jaskier want to shift slightly, whether to run or attack, he wasn't sure. A flight or fight response he wasn't sure why he had, because he couldn't fight... He always carried a knife on him, though, hidden from sight, a habit he wasn't quite sure how or where he'd picked it up.

"I'm glad you haven't departed yet," Borch approached him. "I offered your friend some advice, but I wish to offer you something else."

"Geralt isn't my friend," Jaskier replied, suddenly finding himself fighting with his emotions and knowing Geralt was still within earshot. "Not anymore. You don't need to feel like you owe me something, just because you gave him something."

"I insist on giving it to you to you all the same," Borch replied. "Did you know you are cursed?"

"What?" Jaskier's heart skipped a beat.

"I have never seen a spell quite like it," Borch continued. "It is dark magic, forbidden magic."

Jaskier didn't have to look round to know Geralt suddenly stood behind his shoulder. Why did he care anyway, if he was cursed? Maybe the curse would grant Geralt his wish and Jaskier would find himself dying a painful and dark end, never to trouble the Witcher again.

"What-" Jaskier paused and cleared his throat. "What does the curse do?"

"It has granted you with nine lives," Borch finally said. "Each time you die, you are reborn as you are now to live and die again."

Jaskier almost choked, "what is the price for such a curse?"

"A life is taken," Borch said. "You are reborn in its place."

Jaskier felt his knees go weak.

"How many lives," He shut his eyes. "How many lives have I already lived?"

"Two," Borch answered.

"So someone died, so I could have the life I have now?" Jaskier asked, a tremble in his voice.

"Two have died," Borch answered. "This is your third life. The spell was cast at the end of your first, original life."

Jaskier let out a stuttering breath. Two people had died so that he could live more than once.

"I don't remember any previous lives," Jaskier finally stuttered out. "Surely if my first life had cast this curse as a means to live for longer, I would remember them."

Borch shook his head, "You did not cast the spell, it was by another to save you."

Jaskier could feel a burning in his eyes that promised tears if he didn't get ahold of himself soon. Two people had never been born, just so that he could live again, and someone else had forced that upon him as a means to save him... Two people who should have been born were never born. Seven more would die before the spell was complete. Nine lives, like a cat, Jaskier's mind supplied.

"Can you break it?" Jaskier suddenly demanded. "The curse, I mean. Can you break it?"

"I can..." Borch said slowly.

"At what price?" Surprisingly it wasn't Jaskier who asked, but Geralt.

"I don't care what the price is," Jaskier cut in before Borch could reply. "Break it. Two people have died so I can live again... Seven more will die, if the curse remains unbroken, all so that I can live lives that I won't remember."

"What price must be paid?" Geralt spoke up again.

Jaskier turned to face Geralt.

"This isn't your choose, Geralt," Jaskier snapped. "You've made how your feelings perfectly clear. Maybe this is fate's way of taking me off your hands! I want the curse broken, it is dark magic, and it is costing people their lives, so that I may live. It has to be broken."

Geralt finally looked down from where he'd been staring at Borch, and met Jaskier gaze. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Jaskier turned his back on him and faced Borch once more.

"I must warn you, Julian," Borch said. "There is no price to pay; the price is paid in the lives taken. However, when the curse is broken, you will return to the state you were in before this spell was cast. It was cast to save your life; if the spell is broken, I fear you will not have long to live."

"Jaskier-" Geralt began to speak.

"Do it," Jaskier cut him off. "Break the curse... I cannot be responsible for the loss of innocent lives. Not when I have lived twice more than I should have already. I want this to be my third and final life."


	2. Chapter 2

A golden shimmer spread from Borch's hands and swirled through the air before it settled around Jaskier and sank into his skin. For a second, the bard could feel it under his skin, like hundreds of ants, before he suddenly found himself doubled over and vomiting up something that reminded him an awful lot of monster blood. A hand rested on his back and began rubbing circles there, while a second hand gripped one of his shoulders to stop him from leaning too far forward. He knew without a doubt that the hands belonged to Geralt, but Jaskier didn't have the strength to shrug him off while vomiting up the black liquid. Not to mention it reminded him a bit too much of the encounter with the Djinn.

Finally, nothing but bile was passing Jaskier's lips, and he gulped down a lungful of air, like a drowning man, and forced himself to straighten up and shrug off Geralt's hands. The Witcher's hands dropped from him, but Jaskier could still feel his presences looming behind him a tad too close for comfort. Turning to the Golden Dragon, Jaskier forced down the urge to vomit again. Borch was observing him, a frown hardening his features slightly. Taking a deep breath and wishing he had some water to wash the lingering taste out of his mouth, Jaskier cleared his throat.

"Was that it?" He asked. "It's just I'm sure you mentioned something about dying, not that I'm complaining I'm not dying... Wait, am I dying? I don't feel like I'm dying. Is it the black... Vomit? Was I poisoned?"

"That is simply a by-product of the curse," Borch explained. "While used to save your life, it was still dark magic."

"Right," Jaskier nodded. "So, the dying bit..?"

"You are a good man, Julian; you proved to have a noble heart. Even when you knew breaking the curse would end your life, you still demanded it to be broken to save the lives of others," Borch replied. 

"Um, that," Jaskier cleared his throat again. "That doesn't really answer the question."

Without warning, pain flared to life along Jaskier's side. Gasping the bard pressed his hands to his shirt, which was quickly being soaked through with crimson blood, his blood a part of his mind screamed at him, and his legs gave out under him.

"That answers that question," Jaskier managed to gasp out through the pain.

He was vaguely aware of Geralt kneeling beside him and applying more pressure to the wound under his shirt; his mind had gone numb, in fact, his whole body had gone numb, the pain was distant like it didn't belong to him. Giggling, Jaskier realised he must be going into shock.

_Laughter echoed through the halls of the mansion as a young boy ran through the halls. Blond curls bounced as he ran, his bright blue eyes seem to sparkle as he laughed. The servant bowed their heads as he raced past them, smiles tilting their lips upwards before they carried on with their duties._

_"Mother!" The boy called out. "Mother!"_

_Running through an open the door, the boy skipped over to where a woman was sat on a window seat reading a book._

_"Mother, look!" The boy grinned as he reached her and held out a small bright yellow flower._

_The woman put down her book, with a gentle smile and took the offered flower._

_"A buttercup," She twirled the flower between her fingers, before leaning forward and placing the flower behind one of the boys' ears. "Beautiful."_

"-kier!" A voice cut through the haze which had engulfed the bard's mind. "Jaskier!"

Blinking the world back into focus, since when had everything become so blurry he couldn't help but wonder, he focused on Geralt, who's face was looming above him. Blinking again Jaskier realised he was lying on his back, tilting his head to one side he also became aware of the fact he was back in the camp. When had that happened? He asked himself, confusion clouding his mind.

"Jaskier!" Geralt said again, and something in his tone caused Jaskier to turn his attention back to the Witcher.

"Buttercups and daisies," Jaskier smiled up at the witcher. "Oh, the pretty flowers, coming-"

_"-ere every springtime," The woman hummed, as she sat with the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy in her lap in the shade of a mighty tree. "To tell of sunny hours. While the trees are leafless, while the fields are bare, buttercups and daisies, spring up here and there."_

_The boy giggled and squirmed in her arms, but the woman simply pulled the boy closer and kissed the top of his head._

_"Ere the snowdrop peepeth, ere the crocus bold, ere the early primrose," The woman continued. "Opes its play gold, somewhere on the sunny bank."_

_"Buttercups are bright, somewhere 'mong the frozen grass," The boy continued. "Peeps the daisy white."_

_The woman smiled, "can you remember the rest?"_

_The boy shook his head and pouted._

Jaskier screamed and howled as white-hot pain pulled him back to awareness. He blinked through the tears which were gathering along the edge of his eyelids as he gasped and tried to get away from the pain, but something was pinning him down. It took him a moment to realise it was Geralt and that the source of his pain was the witcher pouring something over his wounded side. Alcohol, Jaskier mind supplied as the scent reached his nose, alcohol mixed with blood.

"Stop," Jaskier gasped out, begging and pleading as tears run down his faces. "Please. Make it stop."

"I know it hurts," The witcher's voice flittered through Jaskier's pain-filled existence. "But the wound has to be cleaned, Jaskier."

"Please..." Jaskier whispered as darkness claimed him.

_The boy ran between the trees of the orchard, petals from the blossoms falling like snow around him and covering the ground with a blanket of white, which shifted and fluttered briefly through the air disturbed by his footsteps._

_"Little Hardy flowers, like children poor," The boy sang as he played. "Playing in their sturdy health."_

_"By their mother's door," Another voice joined the boys._ _"Purple with the north wind, yet alert and bold, fearing not, and caring not, though they be a-cold!"_

_The boy turned eyes wide._

_"Father!" He exclaimed and running towards the man dressed in armour and the colours of their king. "You're home!"_

Jaskier let out a cry as his eyes snapped open and he arched his back against the pain. A hand pressed down on his chest before he could pull at the stitches, which now held part of his wounded side together.

"Easy, Jaskier," Geralt's voice spoke from somewhere to his side. "Drink this; it'll help with the pain."  
  
A vial was pressed to his lips, and Jaskier drunk it as it was tipped into his mouth, only to almost gag at the taste. He turned his face away, but a hand grasped his jaw and gently guided his face back and pressed the vial to his lips once more. With no escape, Jaskier was forced to gulp the liquid down, coughing at the taste. The hand retreated, and the pain from his side began to dull into a manageable pulsing pain. Which was almost worse, because now Jaskier could feel the pull on his flesh as the needle past through his skin and the wound was pulled closed, needle thread by needle thread.

"Try not to move," Geralt instructed. "It's almost done."

Staring up at the sky, Jaskier blinked a couple of times as he took in the sight of a dark sky and glittering stars. A warm heaviness settled over his mind, and it wasn't long before he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

_"What to them is winter," The woman sang softly as she and boy stood in the main doorway. "Wha are stormy showers..."_

_"Mother," The boy turned to the woman. "Father will return, won't he?"_

_"Of course," The woman smiled down at the boy, running a hand through his curls. "The war is almost over, he'll be back with us in time for midsummer."_

_The boy smiled and turned back to watch where his father was slowly disappearing from view._

_"Buttercups and daisies," The woman continued. "Are these human flowers. He who gave them hardships, and a life of care, gave them likewise hardy strength, and the patient to bear."_

Blinking his eyes open, Jaskier shivered, and he reached out blindly for any sort of cover he could pull over himself. He was bare-chested, apart from the bandages which were wrapped snuggly around his abdomen. He could feel his whole body shaking, chills running through him like he'd decided to swim in a lake in the middle of an extra cold winter.

"Drink this!" A voice commands and a water skin is pressed to Jaskier's lips before he even has a chance to respond.

Water pours into his mouth and Jaskier splutter for a moment, before gulping down the liquid which soothes his parched throat. All too soon, the water skin is being pulled away.

"You need to eat something," Geralt's voice sounded distant to Jaskier's ears. "I'm going to help you sit up,"

Jaskier shook his head and tried to curl into himself, "cold."

"You're burning," Geralt corrected. "You have a fever."

"m tired," Jaskier mumbled.

"Jaskier!"

_The boy stood in the shadows of a tree. The air was hot and humid and dressed in funeral robes, the boy felt like he would melt. His mother stood near the newly made grave and the other guests had disappeared back to the house to escape the boiling heat. He watched as his mother knelt beside the grave and cried. His father had returned in time for midsummer, only he had returned in a wicker coffin ready for burial and a bag of coins for his service to the king._

_"It's not fair," The boy cried as someone came to a halt behind him._

_"Life is often unfair, young master," The servant answered._

"I need to get him to a healer," A voice dragged Jaskier back to consciousness. "His fever is getting worse."

"I will fly you down the mountain as soon as the sun has set," Another voice answered.

"He needs a healer now!" The first voice sounded angry and Jaskier frowned.

"I can not risk being seen, there are too few of my kind left," The second voice replied, in a calming manner. "I know your pain, witcher. Have faith, your friend is stronger than you know."

"I cannot lose him, he-"

_"Mother, where are we going?" The boy asked as the servant moved around them carrying bags and boxes._

_"Now that your father is gone," The woman explained, kneeling down before her son. "I must remarry. The viscount will be able to provide for us, we'll be safe and well cared for."_

_"But why do we have to leave?" The boy's bottom lip trembled. "I like it here."_

_"I know," The woman smiled sadly. "The viscount cannot come here. He has his own home and duties he must attend to there. Do you understand?"_

_The boy nodded and the woman smiled and stood up._

_"The viscount had two sons," She said. "One who is only a few years older than you. Won't it be nice to have others to play with?"_

Jaskier coughed as a foul-tasting liquid was poured into his mouth. By some miracle, he didn't choke on it and as he coughed again to clear the burning in his throat, he could make out someone muttering under their breath. Blinking he looked around the best he could, his body felt too heavy to move and every last inch of him hurt, everything was blurry and out of focus. Shutting his eyes again, he tried to block out the pain with little success. Whoever was muttering was moving around the room and the sounds were rebounding within his skull. He let out a groan and tried to move, only for someone to grab him by the wrists.

"I wouldn't do that, boy," An unknown voice said. "I've already wasted plenty of good herbs on you. I don't need to waste any more perfectly fine supplies on a lost cause."

Jaskier opened his eyes and looked up at the blurry figure leaning over him, but he couldn't make out their features. He blinked a couple of times, but nothing changed and nothing was making sense. The person above him scoffed and let go, before disappearing out of Jaskier's line of sight. Shutting his eyes again, he tried not to focus on the pain and the burning sensation which was running up his side.

_The boy stood in the middle of his new bedroom, unsure and uncomfortable. Servants were moving around the room around him, unpacking his belongings and making the bed. He'd offered to help, just like he'd done back home, but the moment he reached out the servants flinched away from him. He'd tried smiling at them, but none would meet his gaze. They all bowed to him whenever he approached them or got in their way. He'd even started humming and singing a pretty little tune at one point and they'd all flitched like they'd be struck._

_"What's the matter, my little buttercup?" The boys mother appeared through the open doorway._

_"I don't like it here," The boy replied. "I want to go home."_

_The woman sighed, "It hasn't even been a day yet. Give it some time, before long you'll love it here."_

_The boy watched the servants and shook his head, "I want to go home."_

_"We can't, you know we can't," The woman ran a hand through the boys blond curls. "The viscount will be returning from his duties in the city tomorrow, he'll want to see you."_

_The boy noticed the way the servants all flinched and shook his head._

_"Please, Mother, I don't want to stay here."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. Sorry, it's not a longer chapter, but I've been really busy :/ The poem used in this chapter is 'Buttercups and Daisies' by Mary Howitt. I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can!


	3. Chapter 3

Blinking his eyes open, Jaskier groaned. Staring up at the ceiling, he realised it was wooden beams above him, not open skies. The last thing he remembered was being on the mountain... Where Borch had broken the curse! Suddenly it all came rushing back to Jaskier, the blood, the pain, the memories and the chills of a fever. Geralt had been taking care of him... That didn't seem right. Geralt wanted nothing to do with him. Frowning, Jaskier forced himself to sit up and winced as it caused pain to shot up his side. He dropped a hand to his side instinctively and felt bandages under his hand. The door to the room opened, and Jaskier looked up as Geralt stepped in, holding to steaming bowls. The Witcher kicked the door shut behind him, as he locked eyes with Jaskier.

"You're awake," was all he said.

"I'm aware," Jaskier answered. "Thanks for pointing it out for me."

The barest hints of a smile twitched at the witchers lips before he moved forwards and handed one of the bowls to the bard.

"You need to eat," Geralt said.

Jaskier accepted the bowl and stared down at the soup within.

"Your fever took five days to break," Geralt explained. "You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for eight days."

That explained why the wound didn't hurt quite as much now, Jaskier thought to himself as he began to eat, ignoring the way Geralt watched his every move like he was one of the monster's he was contracted to kill. It wasn't until Jaskier had finished his bowl that Geralt began to eat his, still keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Jaskier like he was about to drop at any second. Ignoring the witcher, Jaskier traced a hand over his bandages. He pressed down lightly and winced at the pain which momentarily shot through his side as a result.

"The wound was infected," Geralt suddenly spoke up, causing Jaskier to jump slightly. "The towns healer refused to treat you at first, said it was too late."

Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement. A vague memory of being told his was a lost cause surfaced and he wondered for a moment how good a healer they were. He was still living and breathing, after all.

"Why are you doing this, Geralt?" Jaskier asked, suddenly causing the witcher to pause in his eating.

"Jaskier-"

"Why are you here?" Jaskier gestured around him. "Why aren't you off searching for your next monster to kill? You've made it perfectly clear that we're not friends, on countless occasions, might I add. Not only that, but you even wished for me to be taken from your life. This is the perfect opportunity, so leave. Take Roach and ride away. I won't follow you, not anymore. I know when I'm not wanted, Geralt. I'm only sorry it took me this long to realise it."

Geralt set down his bowl and moved towards Jaskier. He approached the bed; he moved gently as if approaching a skittish horse who was liable to run at any moment. Not that Jaskier could run, not with his side still healing. Looking up to meet the witcher's gaze, Jaskier suddenly flinched back at the sight of the looming figure.

_Julian barely had time to look up at the figure looming above him before a cane slammed down on the desk he was working at; he'd only just flinched back in time to avoid his hand being hit. The rest of the class fell silent as their attention fell on the two of them. Julian stared down at now broken quill, thanks to the cane, and split ink slowly spreading across the table. Unlike his siblings, he'd been sent to a temple school, rather than being homeschooled by private tutors. Not that he minded, it was easier to avoid attention in a class full of other students than a one on one lesson. Although, he still got himself into a fair amount of trouble and it was usually due to his inability to hold his tongue._

_"Master -" Julain began to say, only to be cut off my the cane coming down on his desk again, causing some of the spilt ink to splash up._

_"Silence, boy!"_

_Julina bit his tongue, as much as he wanted to demand what he'd done wrong, as he'd been merely sitting there in silence doing his work, he wasn't going to risk being caned for it, not when the entirety of his back was still covered in healing welts. The cane came down on his desk again, and he glared up at the man standing over him, yet, he didn't dare speak. The rest of the class was deathly silent, none of them even daring to move, unwilling to turn their master's seemingly unprovoked rage on themselves._

_"You think because you're the son of the viscount, you can get away with anything, boy?"_

_"No, Master," Julian answered._

_"Did I say you could talk?" The cane slammed down on the desk again._

_Julain shook his head quickly, with wide eyes. He tried to think back for anything he could have done recently that could have caused this, but nothing came to mind. He never got in trouble for anything other than talking when he shouldn't of or not paying attention and on the odd occasion drawing in his books or writing poems in the margins. He glanced around the class, to find his classmates had all ducked their heads, not even daring to look in his direction and he couldn't blame them._

_"The viscount will be hearing about this," The Master threatened._

_"No!" Julian jumped to his feet, eyes wide. "Please, master. I don't even know what I've done-"_

_Julian was cut off by a cane snapping his head to the side and sending him crashing to the floor. He could taste blood on his tongue, and his side ached where he'd fallen over the bench he'd been sat on as he fell. He couldn't feel the side of his face, which he could consider lucky as he had no doubt it was going to hurt far worse than any of his previous injuries later. He noticed blood dripping to the floor as he fixed his gaze on it and slowly reached up with one hand to feel the side of his face. His hand came back bloody, and he gulped._

"Jaskier," Geralt's voice snapped Jaskier out of it. "Jaskier."

Jaskier looked around wildly and found Geralt kneeling next to the bed. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He hadn't thought about his time at that godforsaken Temple School in a long time, in fact, he tried very hard not to think about anything that happened before he attended Oxenfurt University to study the seven liberal arts and during those four years, he'd completely reinvented himself, leaving everything else behind. He'd never even returned home, nor had he seen any of this family since. Much to his horror, Jaskier felt tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.

"Where does it hurt?" He heard Geralt ask. "I will get something for the pain."

Jaskier shook his head, "it's just bad memories... Ones I've tried to forget."

"Hmm."

"Things I haven't thought about for a long time," Jaskier continued. "It's probably just where the curse had been broken; it's made everything a bit muddled."

Jaskier reached up and tapped the side of his head.

"I can feel memories, but whenever I reach for them, they pass through my fingers like sand," Jaskier continued. "Like dreams, you try to cling to when you first wake, only for them to slip away with the morning light. I didn't die, so maybe I'm just remembering my past lives..."

"You don't sound very certain," Geralt pointed out, looking Jaskier over as if looking for any signs of pain.

"I don't know, Geralt." Jaskier snapped, falling backwards onto his back, only to wince as pain shot up his side. "It's not like Borch gave me a handbook which I can find the answers in! I'm just guessing! I wasn't even expecting to survive! The dying part was very heavily implied! And still a possibility..."

The last part of that sentence had Geralt's gaze snapping up to look at Jaskier's face.

"What?" Geralt growled out.

"This," Jaskier waved a hand to his side.

"It is healing."

"But it wasn't the wound which killed me," Jaskier frowned slightly. "I can't remember, so I can't say for certain... It's just; it feels like there should be more. Like every part of me is bracing for the next injury and I don't know why."

"Hmm."

Jaskier rolled his eyes and turned his head to the side, away from Geralt and shut his eyes, "just leave, Geralt. I know you want to."

"No," Geralt answered, standing and picking up Jaskier's empty bowl.

"Why?"

"Because you are... my friend."

Jaskier snorted, "that sounded like it hurt. You don't have to lie to me; you don't need to spare me my feelings. It's too late for that."

"It wasn't a lie."

Jaskier laughed, "I don't believe you."

"I am sorry, Jaskier," Geralt said after a moment. "For what I said on the mountain. I didn't mean it. I was angry-"

"No, you meant it," Jaskier shook his head slightly and tried to curl up, only to stop as it pulled at his wounded side. "And I get it. I understand, I really do. Just leave Geralt, go do your witcher-ing or chase after Yennefer, she seemed awfully upset. I have enough coin for a healer if another injury should appear. We won't ever have to see each other again."

Geralt let out a sigh, shortly followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. Jaskier couldn't have stopped the tears which rolled down his cheeks if he'd tried. 


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt stood by the door, the darkened room posing no issue for his golden eyes. He hadn't dared to return until Jaskier had fallen asleep, he knew the bard well enough to know he would have done something stupid if Geralt hadn't left and that something stupid probably would have resulted in Jaskier reopening the wound on his side. Geralt let out a grunt of frustration as he moved across the room to kneel on the floor a perfect distance from the door and in line with the window, so he could leap into action should anything attack and most importantly he was close to Jaskier, should something happen. He'd really fucked up this time, hadn't he? Words spat out in pain fueled anger, had done what years of snarling and grunting had never achieved... After the first few years of their travelling together, it was more out of habit than anything else. He'd grown used to Jaskier presence and his scent which had never held even a smidge fear in the Witcher's company.

Closing his eyes, Geralt tried to mediate but his mind couldn't find the blissful calm meditation usually bought. Cursing his eyes snapped open and his golden gaze fixed on Jaskier's sleeping form. He twitched in his sleep and Geralt automatically sniffed the air. The barest hints of fear were beginning to seep into the bard's scent and Geralt narrowed his eyes. He and Jaskier had spent enough nights together for the Witcher to know the beginnings of a nightmare. Oddly enough, Jaskier was plagued by nightmares quite frequently compared to what Geralt knew of 'normal' people. He'd even gone as far as to seek out a healer once, unbeknown to Jaskier, after a nightmare where Jaskier had screamed himself awake and hadn't been able to sleep for the rest of the night or the night after.

Of course, Geralt hadn't done it he was worried, per se, but rather he couldn't afford the bard to pass out on the road whilst they travelled. He knew what kind of trouble it would have landed them in, no doubt Jaskier would have chosen the exact moment a monster attacked to take an unplanned nap. The healer had commented on how such frequent nightmares were uncommon. What had... troubled the witcher, was the fact Jaskier never spoke about the nightmares, even when Geralt had asked about them. He remained stubbornly tight-lipped on the subject. What was even more troubling was the fact the nightmares always seemed to be about the same event from what Geralt could tell, or at the very least they always included the same person...

Suddenly Jaskier jerked in his sleep and his breath caught in the back of his throat as the scent of his fear flooded the room. The bard began mumbling, to quiet and slurred for Geralt to make out. He twitched again and Geralt got to his feet and stepped closer to the bed. Jaskier head suddenly snapped to one side and he began mumbling more urgently. Kneeling beside the bed, Geralt reached out one hand and paused, unsure what to do. The healer had warned against waking someone who was having a nightmare, to simply let the dreams run their course. However, the scent of Jaskier fear curled in the back of the witchers throat and every instinct he had, screamed at him to do something.

"We need to go," Jaskier's voice became clear enough to understand as it became more urgent. "Ferrant, we need to get out of here."

Suddenly Jaskier screamed.

"Run!" Jaskier gasped out. "Ferrant! Run!"

A whimper escaped Jaskier's lips and he jerked violently. Hesitating only for a second, Geralt raised his hand and cast Axii. It took a couple of seconds to affect him but the spell calmed the bard and the scent of fear slowly began to recede from the air. Taking care not to disturb the bard now he'd sunk back into a peaceful sleep, Geralt pulled back the cover and examined the bandages, he sniffed the air which was thankfully free of the coppery scent of blood. Jaskier's nightmare fueled movements hadn't disturbed his wounded side. Settling back, Geralt forced himself to relax as he prepared himself for a night of watching over Jaskier.

The sound of running footsteps in the hall had Geralt's attention snapping towards the door and he growled low in his throat, glaring at the door. Jaskier shifted slightly but didn't show any sign of waking at the noise. The footsteps stopped outside the doorway and Geralt automatically honed in on where his swords were in relation to door, should whoever had stopped on the other side, pose a threat. Listening he could hear whoever was on the other side of the door's heartbeat racing, a heartbeat beating to the tempo of fear. The insistent knocking began and Geralt launched to his feet and stalked over to the door, pulling it open with force but almost silently and glaring at the human who stood on the other side.

"What."

"Sorry, sir witcher," They stuttered out. "There's a nightwraith..."

Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose and turned and stalked over to where he swords and armour were. For a moment he considered rummaging through his pack for his potions before disregarding the idea. Nightwraith was simple enough to take care of, a silver sword alone was usually more than enough to take care of them. He pulled on his armour quickly and shouldered his silver blade. He paused briefly on his way back across the room and glanced at Jaskier, he didn't feel comfortable leaving the bard whilst he was still recovering from such a serious injury.

"Please, sir witcher."

Geralt grunted and continued towards the door.

~*~

Jaskier woke with a start, unsure what had woken him. Sitting up slowly, he winced as the movement pulled at his side. Blinking rapidly, he looked around the room and swayed slightly. Raising a hand to his forehead, he squeezed his eyes shut. His head felt weird like his skull had been stuffed full of the softest wool and finest silks, he was having trouble focusing on the world around but that didn't stop him from realising he was alone, he was the only person in the room, he could sense it. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not that Geralt had actually left, though. Opening his eyes again Jaskier looked around the room, he was most definitely alone.

Struggling, like his limbs were made from lead, Jaskier forced his legs over the side of the bed and took a deep breath as his feet touched the cold wooden floor. With a groan of pain as the movement jogged his side, he stood up. Swaying for a moment, Jaskier waited for the lightheadedness to pass before he began making his way over to the door with slow limping steps as he tried not to aggravate his wounded side. Reaching the door he pulled it open, only to flinch as the sudden light of the hallway almost blinded him. Frowning he tried to work out why... The candles were lit in the room behind him, they must have been. How else could he have made his way over the door even though the world was dark outside the window? But his mind was sluggish and forming coherent thoughts seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

All but stumbling into the hallway and leaning heavily on the wall opposite the door, Jaskier almost collapsed to his knees. His stomach rumbled and he realised what had woken him and driven him to get out of bed, even though he hadn't been consciously thinking about it. He felt like he hadn't eaten for a week, even though he'd eaten before he told Geralt to leave... But then if Geralt had left, there would have been no one to wake him, so maybe he had slept for longer than he thought. Shaking his head, Jaskier reached the top of the steps leading to the floor below. Steps. He hadn't thought about that. Just imagining taking each step one at a time, with no way to spare his injured side made a phantom pain jump to life under his bandages. His stomach rumbled again and Jaskier bit his lip if he wanted food, he needed to go down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and took the first step, only to promptly collapse back onto the top step as his legs gave out under him and pain shot up his side. Panting through the pain, he screwed his eyes shut and gripped the bannister so tight his knuckles turned white and the wood creaked under his hand. Groaning as the pain subsided, Jaskier opened his eyes and looked around. He briefly contemplated trying to get up, before disregarding the thought. By some miracle he hadn't fallen down the stairs, he wasn't about to take that risk again. It'd be fine, someone was bound to find him, even if he had to wait until morning until he was discovered. Closing his eyes again, Jaskier rested his head against the wall and let sleep claim him once more.

_"Oi!" A voice bellowed. "Get out of 'ere, ya filthy rats!"_

_The small group of children, dressed in little more than rags and covered in dirt raced away from the stole where they'd been stealing apples. They darted between the vast amount of people wandering through the market and were joined from other children from other parts of the market before they rushed into an alleyway. They only stopped running when they reached an old burnt-out house, where they scrambled through the wreckage and into the small reaction of the house which hadn't been ruined by the fire._

_"What'd you get?" One of them asked._

_"Few apples," Another answered._

_"I got a loaf of bread," A brown-haired boy, with blue-grey eyes said._

_"Dried meat," Added a girl._

_"Nuts and dried fruit."_

_"It's not enough,' The eldest of the children said._

_"We could forage in the woods,' the girl suggested. "There might be some early berries."_

Jaskier stirred and blinked his eyes open and looked around. A look of confusion crossed his face as he found himself sat on the top of the stairs leading to the main floor. The memory of waking and leaving the room returned in bits and pieces like he'd dreamed it. His stomach rumbled reminding him why he'd left the room in the first place and he groaned to himself. He didn't dare move, his memory on getting where he was, may have been a little foggy but the pain was sharp and clear. He briefly thought about calling out for help before rolling his eyes. He didn't want to risk getting kicked out for disturbing other guests, especially while his wounded side was still so tender. Someone would have to pass by soon, right?

_The brown-haired, blue-grey eyed boy walked through the trees, searching for anything edible. The shade of the trees was refreshing and a welcome break from the hot late summer sun, however with winter on the way the boy wonder whether he should soak up as much heat as he could before the biting cold of winter arrived. Reaching a shallow stream, he knelt on the bank and scooped up a handful of water to drink. The snapping of a branch deeper in the forest had him on his feet and ready to run in seconds, however. He looked around wildly as he tried to work out where the sound had come from. The sound of multiple footsteps from deeper within the trees had him edging backwards. He jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder and more men stepped out of the trees._

_"Slavers!" The boy shrieked, hoping they hadn't discovered the others and that with his warning they'd be able to run for safety... Not that the town would offer them much protection._

_He was shoved roughly to the ground and a booted foot stepped down on his back. A chilling chuckle reached his ears and the boy gulped, shutting his eyes and trying not to panic as the weight of the boot on his back hindered his breathing. He'd been beaten and punished for stealing multiple times, ever since his parents had abandoned him in the town, he'd been so young he couldn't even remember what they looked like. Time's were hard and in most places food was scarce, a child was just another mouth to feed, he been fortunate enough that the other street kids had taken him in or he most certainly would have starved._

_"Looks like he's got friends," A gruff voice spat out. "Find them."_

_"Ain't he a bit skinny," Another said. "Won't fetch much."_

_"He's a pretty boy, under all that muck," The first voice answered. "Something's better than nothing, even if there ain't anyone in the market for a pretty boy."_

_The boy gulped as the boot was removed from his back and he was hauled to his feet, he tensed bracing himself to try and break free and run._

_"None of that now, boy," A voice chuckled as a blade was pressed to his throat. "Even with a couple of scars, you'll still be worth a few coin. Save yourself the pain and behave. Throw him in the wagon with the rest!"_

"Jaskier!" A voice woke him with a start.

~*~

Geralt groaned to himself as he rolled his shoulders as he walked back into the town. There had only been one nightwraith, but it had been powerful. To make matters worse he could feel a headache coming on from where it had tried to blind him. He'd been on the receding end of a powerful strike, which had cast him halfway across the meadow and he had landed on a rock hidden in the long grass, right between his shoulder blades. He groaned again as he tried to ease the pain, he'd have a nasty bruise. The only thing he could look forward to was his bodies ability to heal would mean it'd hardly be little more than a shadow on his skin by morning... Which couldn't come soon enough. Pushing up the door, Geralt entered the bar area, a few people still loitered, either too scared to leave because of the nightwraith or they had troubles of their own, they hoped to find the answers to in the bottom of a tankard. Geralt approached the bar, where the owner was waiting for him.

"Witcher!" The man greeted.

"It's dead," Geralt grunted.

The man nodded, "I can pay ya now or if you're planning to stay until that boy of yours is healed, ya can stay for free. I know the healer ain't cheap."

Geralt considered it for a moment.

"Free bed and board," The man added.

Geralt nodded and the man grinned.

"Can I get you anything, witcher?" He offered. "Ale? Some food? I'm afraid it's too late to run a bath, but one can be made up for First thing in the morning."

Geralt shook his head and turned towards the stairs. He would get food in the morning when he could get food for Jaskier as well. He found himself having trouble eating, whilst Jaskier had been unconscious and he'd been forced to pour watered-down broth down the bard's throat. With such a high fever and an infected wound, he needed more than what Geralt could give him. The healer hadn't been wrong, Jaskier shouldn't have survived but by some miracle he had. So, Geralt had found himself taking no comfort in eating and the food always sat heavy in his stomach, because Jaskier needed the energy that food provided in order to survive, yet Geralt couldn't give it to him, couldn't save him...

"Jaskier," Geralt murmured as a familiar scent reached his nose.

He looked up and his golden gaze locked on a figure collapsed at the top of the steps.

"Jaskier!"

The bard startled awake and looked around as he blinked rapidly. Finally, his gaze settled on Geralt and he frowned.

"Geralt?" He asked.

"Yes, Jaskier," Geralt answered as he moved up the last couple of step to Jaskier.

"Isn't that just bloody typical," The bard snorted without humour. "You finally leave me, just like you've always wanted and I dream about you coming back! Does fate plan to torment me like this for the rest of my life? Will I never find peace!"

Now it was the witchers turn to frown as he reached out and touched Jaskier's forehead.

"You're cold."

"Congratulations, dream Geralt," Jaskier sneered. "Who knows how long I've been sat here freezing my ass off... I'm actually starting to miss the other dreams-"

"Can you stand?" Geralt cut Jaskier off.

"Why do you care?" Jaskier shook his head and closed his eyes, resting his head to side again. "It's not like real-life, not dream-version you ever cared anyway. I'm just an annoyance, an inconvenience. Real-life you if finally free of me, so why don't you go fuck off too! Go! Shoo! Go away and leave me to dream in peace, someone will find me in the morning."

Geralt let out a growl and reached down and hauled Jaskier to his feet, causing the bard to let out a pained noise. Not wasting a second, Geralt slipped a hand behind Jaskier's knees and around his shoulders and picked him up.

"Hey!" Jaskier protested.

"Jaskier!" The bard instantly stilled in his arms at the warning tone and glared up at him.

"You sound just like real-life Geralt," Jaskier finally said as they reached the door to their room.

"I am real," Geralt snapped as he stared at the door to their room which was wide open.

"No, you're not," Jaskier argued, as they entered the room and Geralt kicked the door closed behind them. "Real you left. I woke up and I was alone."

"Nightwraith," Geralt answered as he gently set Jaskier down on the bed and pulled a cover over him, pausing only to check the state of the bandages. "Sleep, Jaskier."

~*~

_The boy was thrown to the ground in front of a caged wagon, inside were others who'd been caught by the slavers. Looking around widely, the boy moved slowly, as he braced himself to run... If he could just make it to the trees. As the cage door was unlocked and pulled open, the boy took his chance and bolted for the trees. He didn't make it far before he found himself with a face full of dirt._

_"You're gonna regret that, street rat!" The slaver who caught him sneered. "You know what we do to runners?"_

_The boy struggled under the slavers hold. Another set of hands grabbed hold of him and pulled him upright. Seeing any opportunity, as the boy desperately didn't want to know what they did in fact do to runners, he sunk his teeth into one of the hands with in reach and the taste of copper filled his mouth. There was a howl of pain and he was let go of, as the hand he had just bitten was yanked back. The boy ran only to be knocked down again, as something hard and small slammed into his back._

_"You're going to pay for that boy!"_

_He was kicked onto his back and came face to face with the enraged man above him._

_"I don't care how pretty you are," They waved a sword threateningly. "You ain't worth the trouble."_

_The man swung the sword and the boy closed his eyes, tears falling from between his lashes. The sound of metal hitting metal filled the air and the boys eyes snapped open and he was treated to the sight of two swords crossed above him. The slaver who'd been about to kill him let out a startled sound as he met the gaze of whoever had just saved him and stumbled back a few steps._

_"How about I take him off your hands?" A voice said._

_The slaver opened his mouth and shut it again._

_"I'll even pay you if it'll sweeten the deal."_

_"How much, witcher?" The slaver demanded, finally finding his voice again even if it held a slight tremor._

_"I kill monsters," The Witcher answered. "How about I simply take the boy and let you carry on with you miserable little life? Payment enough, yes?"_

_"Fuck off, cat," The slaver snarled, anger seeming to overrun his fear. "You ain't nothing but a monster."_

_"I do not in trade human lives, I do not profit from selling children as if they were cattle. The only monsters here are you."_

_The slaver charged forward with a cry and the witcher moved fast and fluidly, slicing straight through them with ease and the resulting blood spray showered over the boy like a fine rain as the body fell to the ground._

Jaskier woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and gasping.

"Easy, Jaskier," Geralt reached forwards and grasped Jaskier by the shoulders.

"No, no, no," Jaskier whimpered as he tried to free himself. "Please! Please, just let me go. Please!"

Geralt instantly let go of the bard and Jaskier curled into himself with a whimper of pain.

"Jaskier?"

"Please, don't take me," Jaskier begged. "Please! No!"

Hesitating again, Geralt cast Axii. Slowly Jaskier began to calm down and relax, his breathing losing its frantic pace and his heart rate which had steadily been climbing as he dreamed also began to slow back down to its normal rhythm.

"Jaskier?" Geralt slowly reached out and placed a hand on Jaskier's shoulder.

"Geralt?" Jaskier questioned, turning his head to look at the Witcher and blinking groggily. "What? Why are you here? You left."

"I'm not leaving you, Jaskier," Geralt promised.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and stared at the witcher for a moment, "why?"

"I've already told you why," Geralt answered, suddenly handing Jaskier a bowl seemingly out of nowhere.

"Because you're my friend," Jaskier stared down at the bowl. "You don't have to lie."

Geralt let put a grunt of frustration, sensing the conversation was about to take the same direction as the evening before.

"I am sorry, Jaskier," Geralt stated.

"No, you're not," Jaskier disagreed.

Geralt clenched his fists, this was something he had to do, he had to make things right with Jaskier... However, that didn't make it any easier.

"I am," Geralt promised. "What I said on the mountain..."

"Use your words, Geralt," Jaskier taunted, his tone laced with something, something dangerous that promised if Geralt didn't say the right thing, the damage done to their friendship wasn't going to be repairable.

"What would you have me say, bard?" Geralt looked up and locked eyes with Jaskier.

_Golden eyes stated at the boy, unblinking, as he begged and pleaded before the witcher from the School of Cat._

_"You're coming with me, boy," The Witcher said, as they cleaned the blood from their steel blade._

_Around the clearing lay the bodies of the slavers, every single one of them dead. The Witcher had struck with such speed, most hadn't even had a chance to raise their weapons. The cage which had held the others the slavers had caught had been broken open and those held within had fled, yet not a single one had thanked the witcher who had freed them._

_"No!" The boy cried. "Please! Just let me go!"_

_The witchers lips pulled back in a wicked smile, showing pointed teeth not unlike fangs._

_"What horror stories have they been filling your head with? That we take children from their beds in the dead of night to feast on their flesh?"_

_The bits eyes widened in horror and the witcher laughed._

_"You showed you've got spirit," The Witcher continued. "A will to live, to escape and fight for your freedom. You were willing to bite and claw your way free of those human monsters. Foolish, yes, but exactly what's needed to survive the trails. Welcome to the School of Cat, boy."_


End file.
